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EAVES 




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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf ...-Cf->?- 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



LIB^^-^IBS 



FROJI 



LIFE 



A COLLECTION OF POEMS 



WRITTEN HY 



i 



CLARA F. COOK 



OCT 1 1885 ■ ' 



\i 



7^ ) 37 2 
C 3 



Copyrighted 1885 by Mrs. J. Q. A. Cook. 



OWOSSO, MlCil.. 
The TiMKt5 Piunting Co.. Eook & .Tor. PiirNTEiis. 

188.-,. 



^preface. 

I have no word of apologv to offer in present iii;^' this 
little volume of poems to the public. The rm/ reasons can- 
not be disclosed, but aside f[-;)m these if you find, dear read- 
er, there is ought of worth or merit contained within these 
pages, a little word of coinfort, or encouragement, or enter- 
tainment for a leisure hour, some weary day, if you do not 
too severely criticise what does not meet your approval, and 
find something o^i good, I shall be more tlian satisfied. 

CLAPvA F. COOK. 



ZoriQ ^PO. 



I live once more in this twilight hour 

The years that are long since ilown, 
And I see the faces, and clasp the hands 

That I clasped in the days agone. 
'Tis a castle built in an idle hour 

For 'tis memory's hand I know, 
That has led me back, like a passive child. 

To the days of tlie Long Ago. 

I sit once more 'neath the vine- wreathed porcli 

And I enter the grand old home. 
The dear old home of my childhood s days 

Where sorrow had never come. 
And a meriy group we are gathered there. 

And a voice that is sweet and low, 
Sinofs once ao^ain to the little band 

Of the days of the Lone Aofo. 



() 

Air] we bear n step on the gravel walk, 

And the click of the garden gate 
Tells plainly enough that the father is here. 

For wdiose nightly coming wfd wait. 
And a dear hand lingers upon the latch, 

And with joy he listens I know, 
To the song that is sung of the ohlen time, 

Of the days of the Long Ago. 

Ah, well. 'Tis a score of years since then. 

And perhaps 'tis a childish whim, 
That carries me hack to the dear old times 

That I never shall live again. 
But I ^vonder if at some future time 

In the years that shall come and go. 
We shall meet once more in the dear old home 

And sing of the Long Ago. 

And if, when the rest that will surely come 

To the weary who patiently wait, 
And we pass with the ^vaiting thi'onij^ l)elow, 

Beyond, to the golden gate, 
I wonder if in that l)lesse(l land, 

In the anthems that sweetly flow. 
We shall Iiear the songs of the dear ones there,, 

Of the days of the Lon(>; Ago. 



The 3/ColKer's IPrayer. 

The sunset smile yet flushed the sky 

And threw it's paling red 
Upon three little torms that knelt 

Beside a mother"'s bed. 
Before another sun shall set 

The western sky aflame, 
She will he gone, and "motherless'"' 

Be written 'o^ainst their name. 

"Father,'** the dying woman prayed, 

"My race is nearly run, 
And humbly, and submissively 

I pray, 'Thy will ])e done.' 
But 'ere my weary waiting feet 

Death's rolling waters neai'. 
One prayer for those I leave witli thee 

Thou'lt not refuse to hear. 

"I ask not that their future be 

As joyous as their past, 
For childhood's glad and happy years 

Are all too brio-ht to last. 
Dark clouds of bitter want and grief 

May sweep across their sky. 



And hours of dark despair and woe 
May even now be nigb. 

''But give them strength to meekly bear 

The burdens thou shaltsend, 
And in their every hour of need 

Be Thou their constant friend. 
Keep Thou the Banner of Thy love 

O^er their you no; hearts unfurled, 
And Father, keep my little ones 

'Unspotted from the world.' '' 



Fackcl 

f found, to-day, in book old and forgotten, 

'Mid cherished treasure long: since stored awav, 

A tiny bud, faded, and crushed, and l)roken, 
It volumes seemed unto my soul to say. 

Kindly rememl)rance of a face long vanished 
From out a life Inirdened with vain regret; 

() day of joy! Life's fleeting gladsome summer 
Not soon forgotten, nor may soon forget. 



Telling too plainly of a hope long clierislied, 
Though foTinded l)lin(lly on a kindly tone, 

A word of cheer, a grasp of hand though friendh'. 
Had worked a wrong a lifetime might atone. 

''A sacred shi'ine," he said, ''my love has l)uilded. 
And you it's idol. Will you not regret?" 

Ah, you are selfish, you could not ])e cruel, 
I will forgive, and we may both forcfet. 

No withering gaze. No taunting word was spoken. 

"I will be true to life, and love, and you. 
For friendship's sake accept my simple token 

That 1 may prove more worthy, nor less true." 

A tea-rose bud, just bursting into blossom, 
'Twere more he said than gold or costly gem, 

Twill perish soon, and be no sad reminder, 

Or say in voiceless words, "It might have been." 

And so we parted. I to aimless leisure 
And he afar in foreign lands to roam. 

It were as well. So few will srrieve mv ofoin^^', 
Thei'e is no place upon tlie earth my liome. 

And so at last, and after years in passing 

Have taught the worth of loving hearts and true, 

I come to know that e'en this tiny blossom 
Faded and crushed, has found a work to do. 



10 



O, selfish soul! O, faithless, hapless mortal! 
Craving the life the angels only live, 
Take up the thi'ead of earnest, nseful labor, 
And claim the love that human hearts may give. 



£iYinp Sfe ©ver. 



(), the hours of blissful dreaming, like ethereal castles, seem- 
ing 
To envelope our existence like a shadowy, silvery sheen. 
They by human hands not builded, but by angel hands are 
gilded. 
With a radiance, and the glory of a holy, heavenly scene. 

Now a face serene and sainted, by the hand of memory 
painted, 
Dawns upon our waiting vision through a halo from the 
skies. 
And we wait in anxious seeming, till the old love-light is 
gleaming 
In the smile of recognition l)eaming in those wondrous 
eyes. 



11 

And the bauds are held in cla8[)ing, that we h»;t in seliish 
graspino;, 
For the ones that [)roved less loving in the adverse days 
that came, 
And the gold, O, ashen treasure! hoarded in our search of 
pleasure. 
Like the friendship, false and faithless, was an enipty 
gilded name. 

Lingering now in piathways olden, living over hours so 
golden 
That their radiance lights the darkness of the years that 
intervene. 
Loving forms are close beside us, while sweet memory deigns 
to guide us 
From the dreariness of wintei* to the pathways, summer 
green . 

Walking through enchanted ])owers, while the fleeting sum- 
mer hours 
All unheeded in the passing, give no hint of fading day. 
But the vision fades and glimmers, while the waning sun- 
light shimmers 
0\^v the leav^es grown lu'own and withered, like the hopes 
long passed away. 

(), the memories sweet that linger, even time\s effacing iinger 
Dare not touch the green oasis in the desert, drear and 
lone. 



12 

We would grow impatient-hearted while we dwell on days 
departed 
If our lives l)ut held the memory of the dreary days 
alone. 



Some ©IKer ©ay. 

''Some other day^' we say, and calmly wait 

With folded hands, what other days shall bring, 

Or toil in selfish, aimless ways, nor note 
How dust and ashes to our garments cling. 

"Some other day" — another day, dear heart. 

The weight of sorrow that your hand would stay 

May then have fallen, and how sad were then 
The Inirden of your song, ''some otlier day.'^ 

To-day! to-day! if duty calls, nor wait; 

How would we grieve should sweet voiced Mercy say 
I have no time to grant thee blessing now; 

I'll hear thy prayer, perchance, some other day. 



13 



8() England's loyal Laureate 

By EnglancFs royal sovereign crowned, 
Doth sing of freedom, while the land 

Is girt in bondage round and round. 
While honest hearts and honest hands 

Do serve, in servile thraldom bound, 
They drink their wine in bumpers fine, 
Hands all 'round. 

O, Emerald Isle! unhappy land, 
We welcome thee across the sea, 

Unto our own, and freedom's land, 
The only land so ti'uly free, 

Where every man's a sovereign 

Though kings and lords may not l)e foun( 

And we thy lot commiserate 
Hands all 'round. 

From sunny Italy they come, 

The flowery kingdom's bondage ilee, 

And ne'er may emmigration's tide 
By patriot hand restricted l)e. 



14 

God save our President and grant 

Unto him wisdom most profound, 
While we with mi^rht, defend the rio-lit. 
Hands all ^round. 

No "gh)rious colonies^' we ]>oast, 

(), free iVm erica and grand ! 
Our nolde sons on freedom^s soil 

From Empire's sway will keep our land 
Our's is the only freedom's land; 

Let all the eartli with song resound 

And chant His praise who made us free. 

Hands all 'round. 



©ecoralioR ©ay^ 1852. 

There are floral tributes \v^aiting in our every path and wa\% 
There are sweet \vord- offerings s[)ringing from our saddend 
hearts to-day, 
Though we come with hands o'er laden, and Avith voices 

hushed and lo\v. 
Do we stand l^eneath the shadow that was l)orn so long 
asro 



15 

Of a sorrow that will never vanish from the lives so true? 
Do we l)ring the homage due them to our nohle '•l)oys in 
bUre?" 



Do we walk in thorny places, do we bear the ])runt and 

fray 
Of life's battle as they bore it when stern duty marked the 
wa}^ \ 
Do you o-rudo-e the triflino: i/ittance that the great law- 

makers give, 
That the lives that saved onr country might for future 
service live? 
As ye measure V)e it meted out again to them and you, 
If ye stint from fullest measure to our noble "boys in l)lue."" 

There are lives udiose light had perished in the din of battleV 
strife, 

That had o-one out with the life-blood of some precious, 
cherished life. 
Do we meet and greet them kindly, do we soothe with 

word of cheer, 
Give them peaceful wayside places while meet togethei- 
here? 

Ah, they hearken muffled drum beats and the tramp of meas- 
ured tread. 

While we brino; our fairest laurels to our brave and honored 
dead. 



10 

When the cliiklreii, iniinic soldiers, daily drilling for the 

iight, 
Fntiire o:uard of country's honor and defenders of the riii^ht. 
When they clamor for th(^ "story" in the hash of even- 
tide, 
Do vou tell it softly over how they ])ravely fought and 
died 
V\']ien the lio^ht of freedom threatened to be l)anished from 

the land? 
Do you tell the story over in a way they understand^ 



Susie and IBeiiay, 



Little Susie standing meekly in the winter's sunset glow, 
Wears the look of faith triumphant mingled with des[)air 
and woe. 
"I am cold and hungry, Benny, hut I have ik* heart to 

pray. 
He will never hear us, Benny, Heaven is so far away; 
But I know^ a place like Heaven, and the rich, graiul peo[)l(^ 

go 
There to ask Him foi' life\s hh'ssings, and He answers them, 
I know; 



17 

So He iiui.st teach in the ehurches, as Hh used in (hiys of 

\ore, 
You must go and pray thei*e, Benny, close beside tlie open 

dooi-;' 

So I chanced to hear, in passing, little Benny's ])lea(ling tone. 
Like the whisper of an angel, and it touclied my heart of 
stone; 
"Blessed Jesus, you have taken mamma to that land of 

light. 
And our pa]>a comes now nevei' to our cheerless home at 
night." 
'Susie says (O, trusting childhood with it's lack of studied 

grace) 
''You will never come to help us to that cold and cheerless 
place'; 
And she sa}'s you cannot hear us, you would lielp us if you 

knew, 
And I've come here, l)lessad Jesus, to get very close to 
you. 

Ah, my greedy hand is hohling closer now the shining gold. 

But upon my better nature Benny has the stronger hold; 
And I waited, only giving when the i)rief petition rose, 
"For myself I would not ask it, l>ut foi* Susie — " Ah. 
^^ho knows 

If the human heart oft loses half it's power in selfish prayei*. 

For I felt tile angels answered his petition then and there! 



18 

And the gold had changed its kee[)iiig \vhile the s\\e(,-t 

voice murmered, true 
To the faith that brought its blessing, "Ah, dear Savior, 

Susie knew."" 

So I often, of an evening, in the glow of warmth and light, 

'J\'ll the children liow the angels cared for Benny that sad 

night; 

Tell tlie story o^er and over, till the childish lips repeat 

All the lesson in the sadness of that scene upon the street. 

Teaching pity's wortli, renouncing all the good of cantor 

creed, 
Tliiqi Avhat matter if the Bible they shall never chance to 
read i 
They will live its simple precepts in the thousand ways 

I kno^v, 
That will helj) to lighten, surely, all the weight of human 
woe. 



The storm has ceased! Far out the plain 
Is covered with the drifting snow; 

The sun goes down o'er trackless Avaste 
As far as human eye can go. 



19 

The inoniing dawns; perliaps the siiii 

In matchless splendor shines again; 
No track of Death^s chill work — or trace — 

On all Dakota's trackless plain. 
But here or there some traveler sleeps, 

With winding sheet of drifting snow. 
O, God, withold Thy hand, and stay 

The anguish that dear hearts must know! 
This is Dakota, this the land 

Wliert^ endless fields of 2:olden o:rain 
Speak peace and plenty, though death lurk? 

On all Dakota's snow hound plain! 



©ur jewels. 



There's an emerald region in every heart, 
A mine where our jewels are sleeping. 

There's a ])rilliancy that can never depart 

For it l)rightens our smile in a moment of joy 
Or softens a tear when we're weeping. 



L>0 

There are gems in our mi lie that we oftimes watcli 
^Mlell the forms that surround us are dreaming, 

A face, or a step, or a liand on the latch, 

Or a voice that we loved for a soft spoken word. 
Are all pearls of a ])eanteous gleaming. 

This emerald shrine may be darkened by woe, 

Or the silver of age o'er us creeping. 
But our jewels will ever be bright in their glow 

'Till our hearts in dust 'neath the verge of the tonil 

And the pearls in our dust shall l)e sleeuino;. 



The 3(ome=(lGmiRg. 

o 

In the cottage on the hillside, where the fairest flowers grow, 
AMiere tlie spring-l)ird songs are sweeter than on all the 
earth below. 
There's a gray-haired father waiting foi* the close of this 

glad day, 
And 'a busy mother toiling in a mother's patient way. 
Standing in the vine- wreathed doorway and the roses not 

more fair 
Than the merry Idue-eyed maiden loitering in the shadow- 
there 



21 

lieadiiig from an ()[)eii letter in a u'larl trlumpliant way, 
O'er and o'er tlie joyful tidinfrs, Charley will be home t< 
da\'. 



l^ut the Imsy day is waning, for the four o'clocks that grow 
In tlie path adown the garden droop ])eneath the sunset 
gloNV ; 
But tlie maiden still is dwelling on the words familiar 

grown, 
'^Be the first to meet me, darVmpi:, you must make my 'wel- 
come home/ 
Othei" friends will greet me kindly, your's the hand so warm 

and true 
I would l)e the first in clasping, and my j)arent's next to 
you. 
But the twilight dee[)ens slowly as the sunlight tades 

away. 
And the maiden murmers sadly, '^Charley will not come 
to-day.'' 

But l)efore the words are finished see the village carrier 

comes 
With the news of Charley's coming to receive the welcome 

home. 
And the eager faces brighten with ex[)ectant hope and joy, 
As thev dwell u[)on the welcome they will give the absent 

1h)V. 



09 



Hut tlie tatlier's lij)s are ])l()()(ll('ss and his face is straiiu'ely 

white 
As he reads the ci'iiel message in the shades of falliiig 
night; 
And no gleam of reason meets th(^ni as they liear him wihl- 

ly say 
''Finish u\) >'our fixings mother, (Inirlev zvi// he liom(^ to- 
day/' 



IIom(^! Ah, \'es, hevond the I'iver Avliere tluMiianv mansions 

With the legion of onr soldiers lie is marcdiing glad and free. 
He \vill liear no more the elamor and tlie (dash and elang 

of \var, 
Hear no more th(^ distant echo of tlie cannon's ^vratllfnl 
I'oar; 
'Twas a long and l)loody hattle tliough we dwell not im the 

l)ast, 
Vet they fonght it well and nohly an<l the victory gained at 
last. 
Then go take the joyful tidings in a glad, triumphant way 
To the homestead on tlie hillside, Charley is at home to- 
day. 



28 



W 



acre'er Taou Scoest. 



A WIFE 8 TRIBrTK. 



Where'i'e tlioii goest I would go in gliuiness 

Though it may l)e through arctic cold and snow, 

Through torrid heat we wander faint and \veary. 
Where'er though goest I Avould gladly go. 

If fate should call thee to the field of ])attle, 
Where woman's hand hath little work to do, 

There would I he and soothe, })erhaps, the anguisli 
A wounded soldier, dying, can only know. 

If fortune crown thee with a wreath of glory 
And laurels bright as mortal man doth wear, 

AVith grateful heart and prayer of glad thanksgiving, 
Thy hour of triumph I would gladly share. 

WhateVi' tliy fate, though sorrow's hand shall crusli tliee 

And mark the ever for a life of woe. 
Not grief, nor want, nor life, nor death sliall (hiunt me, 

WhereVr thou iroest I would o^ladly <^o. 



•24 



Z^cpcrience. 



[•'F'or 'vc cannot hv patient except through suffering, nor sympathetic without 
sorrow."] 

When skies were l)i'ightest and li()[)es were highest 
And friends were many, how could 1 know^ 

Except through sorrow liow many suffer 
Who walk, unaided, the paths of woe. 

The ways the sinful tread, all unmindful, 
I had not trodden, nor [)athways drear. 

I knew not sorrow, thougli oft it entered. 
And long it lingered in dwellings near. 

The sunlight faded. The skies oVr-sliaded 

Foretohl of sorrow, of days of woe, 
Of nights of sadness, wdiere never gladness 

Again miglit enter tinie\s waveless flow. 

But omvard toiling, through oft rel)e]ling 

I leai'ued the lesson we all may know. 
That paths grow smootlu^r, and ways seem ne:irei' 

If uncomplaining ^ve onward go. 

That words of cheering ai*e oft endearing 
To those who vigils w^ith sorrow kee]); 



!iO 



Words kindly sj)()keii will soothe hearts broken. 
A tear will soften when loved ones weep. 

So neVr repining, through cahn resigning 
And patient waiting I eame to know 

His hand was leading, His voice was pleading, 
Throu'^h ways of darkness and days of woe 

If skies ne'er l)righten nor ])urdens lighten, 

I do His bidding, supremely blest 
That through all sorrow His word is telling 

Of joys grown nearer; of perfect I'est. 



When day with its wonderful glory had vanished 
And o;arnished the west with its crimson and goL 

Entranced by the beauty T sat till the twilight 
The mvstical wonders of night did unfold. 

And I saw in a vision as clearly depicted 

As evening's first star in the bright ether l)lue, 

A trust, to the keeping of loving liearts given, 
A frail little life bringing joy ever new. 



'26 

As a heacoii -light l)eaniiiig o'er lives that were driven 
By teiiij)est-tosse(l waves o'er a storm-l)eaten sea, 

I saw tliat its dawning was hailed with tlianksgiving, 
The one ray of light in their future to l)e. 

And I watched \vljile it brightened and growing still brighter 
Tlie one ray of hope to their vision it grew; 

And I wished that the dazzle of day-tini9 might spare it 
To brighten the lives that w^ere loving and true. 

But I saw it grow dim and I watched while it faded, 
Not quenched by the light at its dawning, I own, 

But dinjmed 1)y the darkness of night and the storm-cloud, 
And lea\ing hearts stricken, and crushed, and alone. 

And so it is ever, ])e it pride, or ambition, 

Or fame that as meteors illumine our A\'ay, 
As false as earth's beauty, they fade e'en as quickly. 

And leave us in darkness — perchance at mid -day. 



Dylissina 



Perha[)s a hand upon the latch at eveninii 
Familiar 2:rown ; 



Pv-1'liaps ii \'()ic*e, and we may long have clierislied 
Its lovino^ tone. 

A step, may he, up )n the walk at nightfall. 

We wait in vain, 
A dear loved face, whose tendei* memory evei' 

Brings naught but pain. 

An aged form, perhaps, with step too feel)le 

Lonofer to dare 
The thi'eatening storm of lite he long has 1)attled, 

A world of care. 

Perhaps a child, a little one, grown weary 

Of the long liours; 
The ba])y arms o'er loaded with no })ur(len 
Save life's fair flowers. 

A soldier, may he, l)rave in time of l)attle. 

Beloved at home 
Is 'mong the "missing" at the evening roll-call, 

Never to come. 

And they who mourn him, ])attle just as l)rave]v 

Their country's foe; 
In far off homes they wait in vain the coming 

They ne'er shall know. 

Ah, well. 'Tis evei* so; each heart some sori'ow 
Must ever know. 



L>8 



No lieai't so lio'lit ])ut that the wave of troul)le 



Must oVr it il 



OAV. 



But l)ye and l)ye, Avheu life's sad dream is over. 

We'll meet once more 
Each missiu^^ form we've lost and mourued so deeply, 

Aye, ever more. 

A'\ e shall not lose the clasp we long have cherished 

Of some dear hand ; 
Fate hath no power to part the loved aud loviug 

In that blest laud. 

No l)aud is hrokeu aud uo luouruer euters 

That laud so fair, 
For iu the sunshine of the glad 'forever,'* 

No ''uiissiuo'" there. 



y^Kzrz Summer ©aisles Blow. 

Wlieu cloudlets all had left the sky 

Aud summer days were fair. 
When peace proclaimed its joyous reigu 

Through son<2:-birds in the air. 



•21) 

Then when no sorrow filled the hearts 
That wiser heads must know, 

AVe met, our lover's tryst to keej), 
Where summer daisies Idow. 

O, maiden fair, with eyes serene 

And bright as summer Idue, 
I wonder, sometimes, if her heart 

Still beats as then — as true. 
And sometimes wonder if the winds 

That lightly come and go, 
Still whisper softly loving words. 

Where summer daisies l>low. 

O day of joy! thy glad est I'ay 

Was given at the best; 
The love that l)lesses life but once 

My life hath surely l)lest. 
But ah! the days when fraught with joy 

Are never slow to go 
And now we shall not meet again 

Where summer daisies blow. 

And if the daisies of times weep 

With drippings of the rain, 
This joy into my life they bring, 

Years cannot give her pain. 
And if the summer skies have lost 

The old-time ii^olden o:l<^>vv, 



80 



It mattei's not, my darling sleeps 
Wliere summer daisies l)lo\\^ 



"£o, i ^m "With you" 

Alone you say i All, no; there's One beside thee, 
One who will hold thee dearer thnn a friend; 

His word he gave thee, both to keep and save thei^, 
''Lo, I am ^vith you, even to th(^ end." 

The \V()rld is wide, and friends are few and faithless, 
And dwellings oftimes l)uild we on the s;\nds; 

Love is excelling in the wondi'ous dwelling 
That is eternal, and not l)uilt by hands. 

Alone ^ Ah, no; He will be ever with thee, 
Though all beside should prove to thee untrue. 

Though in strange places and amid new faces 
One thou wilt find that has l)een tried and true. 

Alone? Ah, no, the loving Lord will guard thee 
And g:uide thy feet where ever thou shalt roam; 

His hand will bless thee if none else cai*ess thee. 
And guide thee safely to the ''wanderers home." 



^ 



31 



earing liie Shore. 



Fve lost of late the clasp of loving hands 

That all my life have been most iirm and true, 
No voice I hear in kindly spoken word, 

No forms familiar, and all faces new 
And strange to me. 
My frail life bark is driven for all timt- 

By summer's storm and winter's ceaseless gale; 
No beacon light illumines the gloomy night, 

But through the darkness and alone, I sail 
Life's dreary sea. 

These threatening skies have never been more dark, 

The angry waves have never rolled more deep, 
And though you wonder that these tear-drop-^ fall, 

Yet think you it affords relief to weep 
Such bitter tears? 
I wish that I might know 'twould end ere long. 

But that sweet comfort will not come to me. 
And though I long so much to be at rest. 

Yet I may sail alone this dreary sea 
For years and years. 

So ril not murmer in my discontent, 

Thouf>'h in the Idinding darkness still 1 grope, 



;V2 

l>iit pray for strengtli to l)ear it patiently, 

And though it may last for years yet I will hope 
■Twill soon be o^er. 
And I have one great comfort left me still, 

While voyaging oVr this dark and storm\r sea, 
That thouo'h the waves roll and the suro;es roar, 
And though the days may long and dreary be, 
Fm nearino^ the sliore. 



Beycucl the Sea. 



Close ])eside the rippling river, where the German songs are 

sung, 
Once I hearkened sweetest music ever made by Gei'man 

tongue. 
'Twas^ a voice in earnest pleading, wondrous sweet, and 

sweetly low, 
^'Tliere's no liope 1)ut heaven \\'aits me if, dear Gotlieb, you 

must go. 
Never friend on earth beside you, you are all that's left to 

me, 
AikI I sliall not live, dear Gotliel), if you go beyond the 

sea." 



83 

"Ah, \>^s, you will li\r, my Kathleen, hearts do not so easy 

l)i'eak, 
You will bear the })arting bravely and l)e patient for my 

sake. 
You will live to l)e the mistress of a mansion, rich and 

grand, 
x\nd the proudest wife, and fairest, in that famous far-off 

land. 
And 'tis there that fortune waits us, in a l)lessed land and 

free, 
And ril make our home, dear Kathleen, in that land beyond 

the sea." 

Close l)eside the rippling river in the cottage (juaint and Ioav, 
Kathleen waits with wearied patience, for the lonely years 

to go. 
She has learned the lesson bravely, just how much the heart 

may l)ear 
And not break ^leath weight of sorrow that no otlier heart 

doth share. 
And no day of brighter dawning in the future near doth 

see. 
Take this message then, to Gotlieb, to the land l)eyon(l tlie 

sea. 

''Tell him,'' and the voice, though broken, is still v>^ondrous 
sweet and low, 

''That the heart that broke in waiting, will foi' him no cold- 
er grow, 



84 

J'liat tlu' (lai'ksoiut- sea, between us ^villl its aiigi'>', ceaseless 

roll, 
in the years of lio[)eless waiting swept across my very soul, 
Vnd I kno\\' that deatlTs dark river \vill have less of dread 

for nie, 
\nd ril wait him, just as truly, in a land ])eyond the sea. 



I am far from the shores of my native land, 

I am far from its cheerlnor lig-ht, 
But I dreamed once more of my childhood\s home 

In the hush of the solemn night; 
And I sat once more on the threshold stone, 

In the calm of the eventide, 
With the dearest friend that my life has known. 

Was close to her loving side. 

They^ll meet, to-night, 'round tlje old heartli -stone, 

To bask in its warmth and cheer. 
And they little tliink that I die alone. 

That no helping hand is near; 
And they 11 speak again of the absent one 

And sigh that I'm doomed to roam. 



a5 

But I never jsliall lUc^et with tlie loving fi'iends 
Again, in the dear old home. 

'Tis the night of life^ and no ray of hope 

I see in these forei2:n skies, 
The slunlow of death, with its sonil)re gloom, 

I know V'ross my pathway lies. 
Then carry me back to the dear old home 

I plead with my latest breath, 
I never can sleep in this "stranger land,'' 

Not even the sleep of death. 



IFaitKless. 

A half decade of years ago when life was at its best. 
Your love was all mine own, Alene, and I supremely blest. 
I had not dreamed this state of things 'twixt us might 

ever be, 
Now I am naught to you, Alene, and you are naught to me. 

New fields of conquest you have won, and other liearts m:iy 

know 
Wliat I have lived in all these years of utter hopeless woe. 
I cannot tell if bitter wrongs may have recoiled on thee, 
I onlv kno\v I'm naught to you, and you are naught to me. 



86 

I wish tlie years iiuiy l)ring to you no touch of gi-ief or care, 
That sorrow's crown it may not l)e your hapless lot to wear; 
That all the l)est of life, its joy and gladness, come to thee, 
E'en though Tm naught to you, Alene, and you are naught 
to me. 



gillie Tearl. 



[The following lines were written upon the death, by accident of a neighbor's 
child. A remarkably beautiful and interesting little girl of three summers. Al- 
though her death was accidental, there was notn sinde mark of violence upon the 
faultless little form.] 

The morning sun had Lathed in light 

A home from sorrow free. 
And dwelling: there, mid lovino; friends, 

A baby form we see. 
The dimpled hands have culled the flowers 

That strew life's suuimer way. 
And ne'er a care had shadowed o'er 

That heart so light and gay. 

But ere that sinking summer's sun 

Had left its flnal trace, 
The light of life was stricken out 

From that sweet baby face. 



A FatlierV band had touclied, in love, 
That form so strangely fair, 

Had lain that home 'neath sorrow's rtx: 
For death had entered there. 

A brother's lovino- hand had led 

The little feet astray 
From mother's love and watchfnl care 

On that sad summer day. 
A fathei*\s arms his idol l^ore 

Back to a mourning home. 
.V cruel blow had done its work 

And death had claimed his own. 

A missing form beside the hearth, 

A little vacant chair, 
A little new-made mound to-night, 

A tress of golden hair, 
The little hands are folded o'er 

A heart as still and cold, 
A little form we've lo^'ed of yore 

Will never more unfcdd. 

Father, to-night we kneel and [)ray 

In this, our lonely home. 
That Thou wilt kee[> our darling safe 

Where sorro\\s nevei' come. 



88 

And O, we thank Tliee from the heart? 

Th<)u\^t stricken throngh Thy love, 
Tliat little Pearl is safe with Thee 

In tliat hriirht land al)ove. 



3^y 3feigKbor 



A .\M^:W VKKSIOX OF AX OLD STOIJY 



O, eonie, I said to maiden fairer 
Than fairest summer flowers grow. 

And seek the pleasure tliat comes of leisure, 
In summer places where wild flowers grow 

"Ah, no,^^ she said, and slightest tremor 
In voice of sweetness, I could descrv, 

"For me no ]>leasure, hut toil in measure 
Is meted daily to such as I.'' 

"Well then,'' I said ^^if you the hurden 
Of daily toiling may not unload. 

As friend and neighbor Til share your lahor-. 
And bear your bui'den ado\vn the road/' 



89 

^'Llfe basso little of good," she inurmured, 
'^If wortli the striving I cannot say*/' 

With slight complaining, yet all disdaining 
To catch the meaning my words convey. 

^'I will be plainer," I said, and frankly 

I told the story, so old, yet new, 
"I am no brother, I own, yet other 

Than friend or neighbor I am to yon. 

^^Life has a thousand joys in keeping. 

And fickle fortune is smiling still, 
Joy is a servant, fast and fervent, 

x\nd I his master, if you but will." 

She joined my ramble with ])lushes sweeter 
Than snmmer roses along our way; 

-You are no brother," she said, ''if other 
Than friend or neighbor I cannot say." 

But when the autumn her richest fruitage 
To nature's needing she gave in store,. 

My heart was lightened, my dwelling brightened 
By presence welcome forevermore. 



40 



(aoGcU^CipKt. 

o 

^Tis a fscore of years, my (larlino-, 

Since you l)a(le me last "good-niu'lit,"'' 
And the l)riglitness of Life's noontide 

Changed to deepest, darkest niglit. 
And I'm weary, weary, waiting 

For the sun adown the west; 
But the shadows now are lying 

Close unto a land of rest. 

In my dreams I sat this twilight 

In our eottage liome once more, 
And a sea of raging l)illows 

Almost reached our cottage (h)or, 
And although the threatening danger 

Filled our hearts with anxious care. 
Yet a beacon -light was beaming 

From the lightdiouse over there. 

And o'ei' all the troublous waters 
Life has shadowed like a pall, 

I could see that bright light l)eaming 
Through the darkness over all, 

So I know the day is dawning, 
That the night of life is ])ast, 



41 

That the \veaiy years of waiting 
In my life, are o'er at last. 

I shall clasp your hand my darling, 

As I used so Ion Of a^ro. 
And the meeting be as joyful 

As in olden times, I know. 
When another morn is flood in^: 

All the earth with golden light, 
We shall meet, I trust, my darling, 

Nevermore to say "good-night." 



Uutil ©ealK. 



Out on the lawn where the lillies grow, 
Whei*e the murmer of fountain leaves 

Do strangely hlend with the Avords of love, 
A maiden stands 'neath the maple trees. 

'Tis the (dd, old story she hears again, 
Thougli oft repeated 'tis each time new; 

The vows are spoken, and fond lips meet 
That have promised forever to ])e true. 



42 

'Tis a year since then, and tlie lovini^- l>i'i(le 
Knows no otlier light l)nt of endless day, 

Ava\ bnt sculptured niarl)le marks the s[)ot 

Wliere life's feverish hopes are turned to clay 

And lie who vowed, 1)ut a year ago, 
To cherish the o-ift of a trustino^ heart. 

That only /ler love could make his life. 

Again has promised "'Till death do part/' 



^WaitiR^. 



Only waiting till the Master 

Bids the patient toiler come 
From His vineyard, wide and dreary, 

To the gloiy of His home. 
Only waiting till the shadows 

From a life Imve passed away, 
Onl}^ waiting for the morning, 

Foi* the Idessed light of day. 

Waiting till the tide, in -coming, 
Cease its wondrous ebb and flow. 

And the earth, frail bark, is stranded 
Bv the weiirht of luuiian woe, 



43 

And the ''peace, be still," is wafted 
O'er the waters wide and deep, 

x\nd the storm-tossed waves, all peaceful, 
Only troublous memories keep. 

Waiting till the notes discordant. 

Have V)een banished from life's song; 
Till the hand of mercy righteth 

All the world of human Avrong, 
Till the clouds of doubt and darkness 

From the skies are swept away, 
(July waiting foi* the dawning. 

For the golden light of day. 

Then if to our lives be meted 

Every kind of earthly woe, 
Yet a lovino^ hand is leading: 

In the way oui' feet must go. 
Though the best of earth, and brightest 

From our lives has passed away. 
We are waiting for the morning. 

For the golden dawn of day. 



44 



The I^iver of Teace. 

The frleiidsliip I prized 'hove all earth and its treasures 
Is mine until time and its pleasures shall cease; 

Lite is like unto this, I can mind me no other, 
Like unto a river of peace. 



The day of my gladness has (lee[)ened to darkness 
And blackness of niglit. Ere the noontime has tied 

I clasp the dear hand that returns me no pressure, 
And kiss the cla}' lips of the dead. 

l>ut out from the darkness from night and despairing, 
A voice from all sorrow has offered surcease, 

'Vl have found'' — and I hearken the voice of an angel— 
"Have found the sweet river of peace." 

So I triumph in sorrow, and only am waiting 

Till time from its burdens shall bring me release, 

And I, too, shall sleep by the wonderful river. 
The calm, waveless river of peace. 



